The days blurred together in Hetri's home, with Aidi recovering physically but remaining emotionally distant. She refused to let her guard down, though Hetri's presence seemed inescapable. Every time she opened her eyes, he was there—quiet, watchful, and, to her annoyance, gentle.
The house itself was surprisingly modest for someone like Hetri. Wooden beams stretched across high ceilings, and the walls bore the warm hues of well-worn stone. Large windows invited the sunlight to spill in during the day, and at night, the soft glow of lanterns gave the space a homely warmth. It was a place that seemed at odds with the man she thought she knew.
This evening, the scent of roasted herbs and bread wafted in from the kitchen. Aidi sat in the living area, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Hetri had insisted she take the couch instead of retreating to her room, and while she had grumbled at his suggestion, the comfort of the fire crackling in the hearth had ultimately won her over.
The silence between them stretched like a taut string, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. Hetri sat on the chair across from her, pretending to read a book but glancing at her every so often. Aidi didn't miss it, though she didn't acknowledge it either.
"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Hetri looked up, closing the book carefully. "Doing what?"
"Hovering over me like a damn hawk," she snapped. "You could've left me in that cell. It's not like you care."
His jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm. "I care more than you think."
She let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Because you're such a selfless, noble leader."
"I never claimed to be noble," Hetri admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But I'm not a monster either."
Aidi narrowed her eyes. "You think letting me stay in a nice house and hiring a doctor makes up for everything you've done?"
"No," Hetri said simply. "It doesn't. And I don't expect you to forgive me. But I meant what I said before—I don't want to hurt you. I just... I want you to be okay."
"Why?" The question escaped her before she could stop herself. "Why does it matter to you if I'm okay?"
Hetri's gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, he looked almost... vulnerable. "Because I've seen what this war does to people. I've seen it destroy everything good in them. And I don't want that for you."
Aidi stared at him, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. For the first time, she saw a glimpse of the man beneath the armor—the man who wasn't just a soldier or a strategist, but someone who carried his own scars.
But she couldn't let herself soften, not after everything. "You don't get to decide what happens to me," she said coldly. "You're just another part of the problem."
Hetri's eyes darkened, but he didn't rise to her bait. "Maybe I am. But that doesn't mean I don't want to try to make things right."
The room fell into silence again, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Aidi turned away, her fingers tightening around the blanket. She hated how his words lingered, how they chipped away at the walls she had built around herself.
---
Later that night, Aidi sat by the window in her room, staring out at the moonlit landscape. The rain had stopped, leaving the earth damp and the air crisp. She could hear the faint rustle of leaves in the wind, a soothing sound that reminded her of quieter times—times before Hetri, before the war, before everything.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She didn't bother to answer, assuming it was Hetri. Sure enough, the door creaked open, and his familiar figure stepped inside.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said, holding out a plate of food.
Aidi glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "I'm not."
Hetri hesitated, then set the plate on the small table near the window. "In case you change your mind."
She didn't thank him, and he didn't seem to expect her to. He lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to say something more.
"Why do you keep doing this?" Aidi asked, her voice softer this time.
Hetri ran a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. "Because I want you to see that I'm not the person you think I am."
"And who are you?" she challenged, her tone sharper now. "A kind-hearted leader trying to save the world? Spare me the act, Hetri. I've seen what you're capable of."
He sighed, leaning against the wall. "I'm not a good man, Aidi. I've done things I'm not proud of—things I'll never be able to take back. But I'm trying to be better. And maybe it's selfish, but... I want you to see that."
Aidi stared at him, her chest tightening with emotions she didn't want to acknowledge. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, turning back to the window.
Hetri didn't press her. He stood there for a moment longer, then turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, she spoke.
"I don't trust you," she said quietly, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and something she couldn't quite name. "And I don't know if I ever will."
Hetri paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I don't expect you to. But I'll keep trying, anyway."
And with that, he left, leaving Aidi alone with her thoughts once again. She stared out into the night, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. For the first time, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was more to Hetri than she had allowed herself to see.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it away, determined to hold onto her anger, her hatred, her resolve. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford—not now, not ever.